Hear our voices, all of you, men of resentment Whose stomachs and souls are aflame With the poisonous hatred of impotence You whom have been wronged again and again Wiping your face clean, day after day From the spit of those sitting unjustifiably above you We will grant you freedom from freedom We will burn and not explain And this will feel ecstatic As thou cometh unto us We shall ease your sense of frustration and isolation From your mouths will flow endless rivers of black bile You will regurgitate the quintessence of failure And in the depths of the night Feel the warmth of equity Recovering your shivering body You're longing for flames engulfing the desirable things of yore And the drowning of the successful in crimson oceans are tainted By the aching premonition that your marches To the cries of all or nothing at all Will, of course, yield the latter for you We will grant you freedom from freedom Together, we will burn and not explain And this will feel ecstatic We will give you just enough of a taste of paradise To feed your unsatisfaction and turn you into feral dogs There's a grave at the other end of this metanoia A grave large enough for your former and future self O hound, feral dog We shall grant you freedom from freedom Relief from frustration